


Fidelium Defunctorum

by Arithanas



Category: The Borgias (Showtime TV)
Genre: Churches & Cathedrals, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-09 22:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16458437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: The quick and the dead attended the consecration of their cathedral.





	Fidelium Defunctorum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exchequered (kesterstjohn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesterstjohn/gifts).



> Beta: rosefox (Via Discord)

Rodrigo Borgia raised his eyes to look at the new dome. It was simple, but much more in line with the new austerity he had tried to bring to the Church.

He closed his eyes and recited a perfunctory prayer for those who had died when the old dome fell. He extended his hand and one of the bishops put the golden censer in his hand. Rodrigo almost felt surprised by how heavy it was.

The crucifer started the procession. Behind him came Rodrigo leading the cardinals, and behind the cardinals a psalter of bishops praying in bad Latin. That was another one of the much-needed reforms in this Vatican, and Rodrigo, swinging the censer in wide arches, reminded himself to raise that detail in his next meeting with the cardinals.

The fragrant smoke, rising in dense plumes, touched the unwashed masses that filled the cathedral. They were happy to have their temple restored, and they didn’t want to miss the spectacle. They were simple people, and to be honest, he found them disgusting and vulgar; but they were his flock, and he would minister to them nonetheless.

Rodrigo gazed over the mass of people, looking for those who might benefit from his attention. There was always someone in need of a benediction, or a particularly poor person who could be taken into account. 

To his horror, he began to see the gaunt faces of the dead. Rodrigo’s first impulse was to pray, but fear stuck his tongue to his palate.

Between clouds of frankincense smoke, he saw a man whose head had been half-crushed. Two steps ahead was a woman with her arm hanging from her disjointed shoulder; her good arm extended towards him, begging for relief for her pain.

There was no way to avoid walking among those who had returned to remind him of the tragedy; the procession trapped him. Rodrigo flinched and whipped his head to the other side, only to be greeted by half a man; his limbs and entrails had been mauled by the unmerciful weight of the carved stone. Rodrigo felt his stomach turn.

The procession was reaching the transept and the crucifer turned right. Rodrigo, sweating under his miter, turned his eyes to the altar, hoping for solace for his tortured soul. But next to the stone, covered in dirt, the altar helper was waiting.

His hair was still angelically blond, but his lips were livid, and drops of blood trickled from his pure brow.

He was mouthing something. Rodrigo couldn’t make it out because the procession was pushing him away, relentless, driving him to further horrors. His hand was cold and clammy, but Rodrigo raised it to make the sign of the cross over himself, though he doubted now that there would be salvation for him.

The quick and the dead pressed inward together, celebrating the consecration of their cathedral.   

**Author's Note:**

> _Pie Iesu Domine, dona eis requiem..._


End file.
